Letters
by FleursdeLis
Summary: This is a one-shot about a letter that Dean writes to Cas after the angels fall. There may be a swear word or two, nothing too bad.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.**

**Author's Note: Hey! This is a one-shot that takes place about three or so months after the Fall. In this one-shot the boys haven't met up with Cas, so it's just them. They don't even know if he's alive. Please review and enjoy! I _can_ make this more than a one-shot if anyone wants.**

Sam woke up in the early morning hours before the sun rose and found Dean asleep at the crappy excuse for a table at the motel they were staying at. It had been a few months since the angels have fallen, and Sam noticed that Dean didn't sleep much at all. He knew Dean blamed himself for leaving Cas, but he also says that he would have done it again to save Sam. Of course, this brings Sam to the confusing prospect of how Dean could blame himself since he said outright that he would make the same choice again. He also knew that the reason for Dean skipping out on sleep and drinking at a whole new level went deeper than guilt and self-loathing. He had lost his best friend. Again. And Sam knew that it was killing his brother, but he didn't know what to do about it. He tried to cheer him up the first month by taking him to bars and sending cute girls his way to distract him, but Dean hadn't taken up a single offer. He just drank until Sam had to practically drag him to the Impala and drive them home, whether that be the bunker or the motel of the week.  
A month after the angels fell, when Sam was feeling considerably better, they began hunting again. Sam knew Dean was keeping a secret from him, and he guessed that it had to do with the miracle of himself feeling better, no longer being sick from the trials. This bothered Sam, but no amount of coaxing would get Dean to spill what he was keeping secret. So when Dean deemed him healthy enough to go on a hunt, they left. Dean didn't speak of Cas, instead he just hunted relentlessly, never stopping, even when Sam begged him to slow down and rest, he didn't stop. When they weren't on the job Dean would be on the laptop. Sam didn't know for sure what his brother was looking at because the history would be gone by the time Sam got to it, but he could guess that Dean was utilizing every skill he had learned from Frank and Charlie to find Cas. Sam also could guess that Dean was having no luck, because as the days turned into weeks and the weeks turned into months, Dean drank more after each laptop session and slept less.  
Sam could see the effect that Dean's obsession was having on him. He was getting sloppy during hunts, sometimes even unintentionally putting Sam's life in danger by reacting too slow to a ghoul's knife or not ducking when Sam yelled for him to. After each close call to Sam, Dean would stop drinking and try to force himself to sleep, but it didn't last long. Sam knew that his brother was trying, but he also knew that it was killing him, and he didn't know what to do about it other than try to steer him clear from that. He even suggested that they visit the Grand Canyon like they always talked about, but Dean wouldn't bite. He just shook his head.  
Dean didn't talk much these days, if at all really. Sam tried to get him to talk, to tell him what was the matter, but Dean would just change the subject and eventaully he began to avoid Sam whenever he could, so Sam stopped asking. He never stopped worrying though. Dean would talk to him during the hunt, but only to give him details or work out stragety. They didn't talk about anything meaningful, just the job or the monster of the week. Cas still hadn't been brought up once.  
So when Sam woke up three or so months after the Fall and saw Dean sleeping with his head resting on his arm on the table and he looked at the open laptop screen in front of him, he was a little more than shocked. Dean had a word document open and there was type there. Sam didn't know what he had been expecting, maybe a top secret government site or a tracking site, not a word document. Sam knew he would feel guilty as hell for this afterwards, but he had to know what was bothering Dean, for sure. He needed to know so that he could try to help his brother out of this huge, gaping rut he was in, and so he silently grabbed the laptop, sat on the bed, and starting reading what his brother had typed.  
_Cas,  
Since I know you'll never see this, even if we do find you, I guess I can tell you, well, everything. I can't tell Sam. Not that I don't think he wouldn't understand, but because I don't want to say it out loud. If I say it out loud, then it becomes real, and I don't want this to be real. I don't want to feel dead inside. Cas, you rememeber when we had a run in with Famine? Remember how he told me I was already dead inside? Well, compared to now, I should have been doing the tango I was so alive.  
I'm scared, Cas. I'm terriffied. I have been since Sammy started the trials. When he was coughing up blood, I knew we were in deep shit. I knew we were in way over our heads. It should have been me. That's all I could think the entire time that Sam was sick. That it should have been me, not him. But then again, I'm not as strong as Sammy. I would have given up. I would have let the trials win, because back then I really didn't want to keep living. I was tired, still am actually, but you know that. I just wanted it to end. I wanted my end to mean something, but instead I let Sam take on the trials. I let him get sick and get burdened with the whole awful mess. What a great big brother I am. (Yes, that was sarcasm, Cas.)  
So when I found out that the trials would kill Sam if he completed them, well I couldn't just let that happen. I let my brother die once for the world, I wasn't going to let it happen again. I asked you to send me to him, and you did, and I thank you for that, Cas. I know you wanted me with you, but you let me go to my brother, so thank you. When I arrived and he was just...I don't even know what to say, but when I found that he didn't care if he died, because he thinks that he let me down, well a small part of myself died. No, a rather large part. How could I ever let Sammy think that he let me down? All the kid has ever done is make me proud. Of course, there is the demon blood thing, but I don't hold that against him. I never really did, I was just pissed and alone and scared and didn't know what to do. But he never, ever let me down, and how could I let him think that? What kind of brother am I?  
I've been meaning to tell Sam all of this, but you know how I am with words. I suck. I told him that day that nothing has ever come before him, but I know it wasn't enough. I'll never be enough for Sammy, and that just...I don't know. That doesn't sit well with me. I wish I could go back to all the times he thought he let me down and tell him how proud of him I was, still am. I wish he knew that he means the world to me, he is my world, and if I would have let him die again for a world that doesn't give a rat's ass about us, well, I would have died. I would have killed myself, because how could I let him do that again? I just couldn't. Maybe I was being selfish, maybe the world will burn because of the this, but I can't really care. Not when it was Sammy on the line.  
So of course, being the coward I am, I haven't told Sam any of this. I will, one day, I just hope that when that day comes it isn't too late. I just hope it isn't while one of us are dying from a nasty hunt. Maybe I'll tell him after this, but I probably won't. I'm too much of a coward for that. Just like I'm too much of a coward to tell you how I feel about you, Cas.  
God, where do I even begin? When you raised me from Hell? Or maybe when you fell for us? When you swallowed all the souls in Purgatory? When the Leviathons killed you? When you came back to me in the form of Emmanuel? When you took on Sam's sickness? When we went to Purgatory? When I failed to get you out? When you returned after that? Or maybe when Naomi had you try to kill me? When you fell, or died, for real? I don't know. All of these things...they're more than a little difficult to talk about. I don't even really want to, so I'll just say this. Cas, you gave everything for us again and again, you betrayed us, tried to kill us, then you gave even more for us. How can I even begin to thank you for everything you've done for us? Where would I start?  
I guess I could start by saying thank you. For everything. For saving me from Hell, for saving my brother from Hell, for falling and for going insane, but mostly for being my friend. My one true friend. Sure, Sam is my friend, but he kinda has to be. You could have left me so many times, Cas, but you never did. You stayed by my side for the most part, and you made me see how cared for I am, though I hate to admit it. When you lost your faith in me, back when I was going to give myself up to Michael, well, I would never tell you this, but that killed me inside. More than anything else. Your snide remarks and the looks you gave me, I just couldn't handle it. I knew that I had failed you, my best friend. And then when you nearly killed yourself for us, I felt like the world's largest ass. How could I let you down so completely, and yet you still were willing to die for us? You still were my friend.  
And then, after you became God, when the Leviathons killed you, or so I thought, I nearly died then, too. I drank and drank and didn't know what to do. My best friend, my only friend, had died. After betraying me and twisting my faith and trust so much that I couldn't even trust my own brother. I didn't know what to do with myself, I was lost. And now you're gone again. I don't know if you're dead or fallen, and I don't which is worse either. I wish you were here, with us, so I could take care of you if you've fallen. I wish I could just teach you how to be human, how to take care of yourself, because it isn't easy. I worry about you out there, if you're alive. I worry about you eating and sleeping and cleaning yourself. I worry about you not knowing the dangers of big cities and not knowing to not walk down a dark alley at night. What if you get jumped? What if you get hit by a car? What if you starve to death because you don't know how to apply for a job? What if you get kidnapped, who would know? Who would save you?  
Cas, if you're still alive, please come home. You'll always have a home with Sam and me. Always. So, if you are out there, come home. I know you're not dead, I can feel it. So come home. Go to the bunker, and we're not there, wait for us. We'll be there soon enough, and I'll help you the best I can. I can't do much, but I'll sure as hell try. Cas, you're my family, my brother, and...well, I love you, Cas. I just want you to come home._  
Sam sat back, his head reeling. He knew his brother loved Cas, everyone could see that, but he didn't know how much he did. How deep that went. So deep that his brother was able to admit his feelings to Cas, something he rarely even did with Sam. He also knew that his brother didn't think Cas would ever see this, but towards the end, it seemed to Sam that maybe his brother intended for Cas to see this. That maybe he intended for Cas to know that he loves him, that he needs him.  
He looked over to his still sleeping brother and shook his head. He wished Dean would just talk to him about this, would let him help, but he knew it was more likely for Cas to just appear in front of his with his full angel powers. He missed Cas, too, but he didn't know Cas like Dean did. Dean probably knew more about Cas than any other person or angel ever did, and he knew Cas knew every detail about Dean. He was the one who went to Hell, who saw his brother's soul in it's entirity, who stitched him back together when he raised him. He always knew that they had, as Cas put it, a 'profound bond,' and sure that made him jealous sometimes, but he knew it made his brother happy, and so could he really fault Dean for something that makes him happy? He supposes he can't.  
Quietly, he got up and set the computer back on the table, putting it in sleep mode so Dean wouldn't know he had been spying. He was right, he did feel guilty about reading that, about seeing his brother bare his soul, but he knew it was necessary. Now he had an idea of what was wrong, and he knew that he could use that information to try to help his brother.  
As he sat back down on the bed and began rifling in his duffle for clothes he heard Dean stir. He looked over and saw him waking up. "Morning, Sunshine." he jibed, hoping to get a rise out his brother. But Dean didn't answer, just closed the laptop and shuffled into the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out with his face dripping, probably from washing it.  
"You got a case?" he asked.  
"Not yet," Sam replied. "Maybe we can take a day off." Dean just looked at him, and Sam knew that wasn't going to happen. So they got ready and climbed in the Impala, driving to nowhere, searching for another hunt, with Sam formulating a plan to get his brother to talk to him.


End file.
